


In Which the Fire Dies

by Untherius



Series: Adrift [1]
Category: Emberverse - S. M. Stirling, Howl Series - Diana Wynne Jones, Tangled (2010)
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:12:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Untherius/pseuds/Untherius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mysterious and powerful magical energy wave sweeps through Wales, knocking out the power grid.  But Howl has a very bad feeling about it.  And when Howl has a bad feeling about something, that's never a good sign.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mountain Ash, Wales  
March 17, 2012, Midnight  
Change minus ten minutes

Hywel Jenkins, called Howl Pendragon, lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. He wished he could get to sleep. His wife Sophie shifted—again—on the bed next to him. If there was one universal fact of being married to an expectant mother it was that if she couldn't sleep, neither could her husband. He'd dealt with it when Sophie had been pregnant with Morgan more than seven years before. Somehow the current pregnancy seemed worse, though there was a severe paucity of data points. After all, there had been only three human-Ingarian pregnancies in history: Morgan; Howl's forthcoming daughter; and Howl's nephew Neil's forthcoming daughter.

It was one more sleepless night on the tail of several others. Humans and Ingarians experienced sleep deprivation quite differently. Humans generally began showing signs shortly after they were supposed to sleep and gradually deteriorated to the point of appearing to be under the influence of narcotics or alcohol. Ingarians, however, could go for days without showing ill effects, but then abruptly crash quite dramatically. Howl loved Sophie intensely, but being married to and living with an Ingarian woman wasn't easy, especially when that woman was pregnant with one's child. Of course, he'd been told that about marriage in general, but he knew for a fact that no one else on Earth knew it like he did.

Howl had just about had it, though. Love or no love, he needed some sleep. If he had to go downstairs to do it, he would. Otherwise, he was likely to go all green-slimy, as if Morgan's tantrums to that effect weren't enough. He carefully slipped out from beneath the covers, hoping Sophie wouldn't notice. He should have known that hope was in vain.

“Ya-Howl?” said Sophie. After nearly eight years of marriage, Howl was still unsure how to interpret that particular tone. He also had no idea how she managed to move around in bed without snagging her dewclaws on the sheets. “Fen silowika?” Where are you going?

While Sophie tried to speak English as much as possible, Howl knew how difficult it was for her. Nearly all Ingarians had a great deal of trouble learning to speak any language but their own and nobody knew why. Most who succeeded never progressed much beyond what would generally be considered first-year second-language schooling. Some could barely speak any at all. A few could speak as well as Sophie, though it always took a fair amount of effort. Fewer still were what were called All-speakers, who possessed magical ability to speak other languages. Oddly, most Ingarians had little trouble learning to understand English. Welsh, however, had turned out to be a more or less lost cause.

“Ya-alsklinga,” beloved, he said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the exasperation out of his voice, “I really need some sleep and you moving around all the time is not helping.”

“I...I am sorry,” she said in English. “You try being with child some time and see how you like it,” she retorted.

Howl shot Sophie a look, which, despite the moonlight spilling through the window, he was pretty sure she didn't see. He was about to say something he'd probably regret when something else out the window grabbed his attention. He stepped over to it and pulled back the sheer curtains that hung there.

“Eh da?” said Sophie. What is it?

Howl shook his head slowly. “I have no idea.”

Sophie got out of bed and half-waddled over to the window to join her husband. He slipped an arm around her waist as she sidled up to him. Together they gazed out the window toward the southwest.

A bright white glow was growing over the hills. There were days Howl wished their house actually had something resembling a view. He really wanted to see what that was. He could magically transport himself to the top of the ridge, but the way the glow was growing, he figured he'd find out soon enough. Besides, he had a feeling he wouldn't have time to react, let alone prepare, anyway. He wracked his brain for anything that could be producing that kind of a glow.

London? Wrong direction and wrong light quality. Nuclear blast? Too sustained and too slow. Suddenly, a wave of what looked like a multicolored electrical arc broke over the hilltop and washed over town. He heard Sophie gasp. The light bored into his head and seemed to wrap around his brain like those things from “Wrath of Khan.” He could feel magic in it, more powerful than any he'd ever known. He felt his body tipping backward and the next thing he knew, he felt the edge of the mattress against the small of his back.

He grunted, then fell to the floor, his left leg folded uncomfortably beneath him. Moments later, his head cleared and he saw Sophie still standing by the window, bracing herself against its frame. He carefully unfolded his leg and crawled to his feet. The light, whatever it was, had gone and he seemed to have fully recovered from its effects. He rushed over to his wife.

“Sishobuka?” he asked. Are you okay?

Sophie nodded. “Ai. What... _was_ that?”

“I have no idea,” said Howl, “but it was magical.”

Sophie looked at him, her sarcastic “no-kidding” expression clearly visible in the moonlight. Howl grinned at his wife. “You're glowing,” he said, “especially your hair. You know I like it like that.”

Sophie's expression didn't change. Then something else caught Howl's attention, but it was more of a something that was no longer there. He peered out the window again, looking up and down the street. “Do you notice something?”

Sophie followed his gaze. “Like what?”

“All the lights are out.”

“That was a...what do you call it...emp?”

“EMP? No...no, I seriously it. EMP's aren't magical. That was something else...something else entirely and possibly much worse.” Howl was suddenly very awake and he was aware of a very bad feeling, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. “Something tells me we're in trouble.” He turned toward Sophie, took her shoulders gently and looked into her eyes. “That wave carried an immense amount of magical power, as I'm sure you're aware. It...it felt exactly like the energy surge that was trying to come through the portal you, Markl and I moved when we all arrived here five years ago.”

“What does that mean?”

Howl wasn't sure how to interpret the question, so he evaded. “I don't know,” he said. That was more or less true.

He turned and walked over to the closet, pulling out some comfortable clothes. “I'm certainly not going to be getting any more sleep tonight,” he said in answer to Sophie's unasked question, “so I may as well get busy.”

“Toeh?” With what?

“Remember all that talk about the Zombie Apocalypse?”

Sophie's eyes went wide with horror and she gasped. “You...cannot be serious!”

“About zombies? Not really, no. But the scenario? I think we might be dealing with something apocalyptic. I hope to The One that I'm wrong, though.” He really did. Howl usually hated being wrong— _really_ hated it, more than men usually do. “You should get dressed, too. We're going downstairs.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Howl and Sophie sat in their living room, fully dressed in seasonal woolens, candles lit around them. A small mirror sat on their coffee table. He was about to tap on its frame to call Megan, when it began to vibrate, the metal bordering the glass emitting a soft, pinkish glow. He looked at Sophie. Someone was already calling. It was probably Megan and she was probably about to give him a piece of her mind, though she could just as easily have stormed across the street, which would have been much more satisfying for her. Despite all the progress he and his sister had made toward reconciling their respective differences, there was still a lingering amount of tension between them.

Howl was about to tap on the frame to answer the call when it self-answered—which was odd, as it wasn't supposed to do that. The face in the glass was the last one he would have expected. It was a friend of his named Eugene Fitzherbert. The trouble was, Eugene was from the year 1603 and it had been weeks since Howl had succeeded in contacting him, what with some sort of strange interference building up on the time axis.

“Eugene! I wasn't expecting to hear from you for...well, ever, actually.” He paused, frowning pensively, then visibly shook it off. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”

Eugene raised an eyebrow. “I thought _you_ called _us_.”

Howl furrowed his brow. “No...I've been trying for weeks, but....” His voice dropped off. He was sure Eugene had the impression Howl was trying to hide something. The man was very perceptive when it came to attempted dishonesty, which stood to reason as Eugene had been a career thief before giving up that life to marry the Crown Princess of Corona.

“This mirror started humming,” said Eugene, “which it hasn't done in a while...so I...tapped on it and here we are.”

“Interesting...” Howl said pensively.

“Interesting how?”

“If you didn't call me and I didn't call you....” His voice trailed off again, then both his eyebrows wet up. “Wait,” he said tentatively, “what year is it...for you?”

“Two thousand twelve,” said Eugene plainly, “March seventeenth to be precise. Why?”

Howl cocked his head. “You didn't learn to navigate the time axis...did you?”

“Um...no,” said Eugene's wife Rapunzel, who'd just joined the conversation.

Howl's eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped. “Guri Dam!” he exclaimed. “He was right!”

“Who was right?” said Rapunzel, furrowing her brow. “And about what?”

“Walter,” said Howl. “If it's twenty-twelve for you and you still look like you're in your twenties, he was right. You're immortal!”

“Tell me something I don't know,” said Eugene.

“What?!” said Rapunzel, agitation in her voice. “You knew? You knew about this and you didn't _say_ anything?!”

“Walter didn't think you'd take it well and at the time, I agreed.”

“Of course I wouldn't have taken it well!” she shrieked. “But you still should have told me!”

“But we didn't know about Eugene's sun-tears then,” said Howl. “The idea that you'd have to watch him grow old and die....”

“Yes, I know,” interrupted Rapunzel sharply. “We had to see it happen to our children and their children. It was awful!”

Howl sighed. “I...I'm sorry,” he said gravely. “I can only sort of imagine it, what with Morgan and Elsa...yes, we're naming her after you.”

Howl saw another face, one that looked a _lot_ like Rapunzel's, join the conversation. “Oh, so you're the Howl about whom my parents keep telling me. It's nice to meet you.”

“This is our daughter Sophia,” said Eugene, “whom you saw the day after she was born.”

Howl's eyebrows went up. “ _No!_ ” he said in astonishment. “It's...hereditary?!”

“Sort of,” said Rapunzel, still a little irritated. “I've passed sun-tears and sun-blood on to all our children, they to theirs, and so forth.”

“That's remarkable!” said Howl.

“This is all well and good,” said Eugene, “but what does any of this have to do with why the mirror works now when it hasn't for the last four centuries?”

“This mirror came from Ingary, right?” said Rapunzel.

“Yes,” said Howl. “The frames are forged of material from the planet's rings. Why?”

“That energy storm had the same quantum signature as the sun-blood.”

“You saw it where you are?”

“Yes,” said Eugene. “We were watching it on CNN and an Internet satellite feed until it passed over us.”

“I don't think it's a coincidence,” said Rapunzel. “But what _was_ it?”

“I don't know...yet,” said Howl. “But we need more information. The first thing we need to know is the scope of the phenomenon.”

“I'm pretty sure it's global,” said Eugene. “The satellite image we last saw showed it covering most of North America and half the Atlantic. The way it was spreading, it would have reached most of the Northern Hemisphere before it reached us.”

“Just where _are_ you?”

“Lake Rosario,” said Rapunzel, “outside of Trevelin.”

“You're in Argentina?” Howl, of course, knew about the Welsh settlement there.

“It's a long story,” she said.

“I don't doubt it,” said Howl.

“Whatever that was, it's also done something to gas pressure,” said Eugene. “We have a steam-powered air-compressor that should be capable of delivering about three hundred PSI. Now we're lucky to get twenty or so.”

“Did you try...” began Howl.

“We tried everything, believe me,” said Eugene. “Our great-grandson Wolfgang knows at least as much about steam power as anyone alive. If he couldn't get it over twenty-five PSI, no one can.”

“Then it's worse than I thought,” said Howl. “I was about to mirror-call Suliman in New Ingary. Now that I have a little solid information to share, we might be able to get somewhere. I'll call you back in a week or whenever I have something more, whichever comes first.”

Eugene and Rapunzel both nodded and then the image faded. Howl leaned back against the sofa and put his hands to his face. Sophie placed her hand on Howl's shoulder.

After a minute, Howl stood up, walked down the hall, and placed his hand on the door marker that controlled the portal from his house to the several other sites he'd magically worked into it. He immediately yelped and staggered back. “Uh...ya-Sophie? Portal's unstable! Call Suliman, would you? It could be dangerous to use them!” He walked back down the hall, flexing and unflexing his hand as though he'd just received a very large jolt of static electricity. It still tingled something fierce. Sophie had already opened the mirror-call.

Howl spent the next few minutes discussing with Suliman what he'd observed himself and learned from Eugene. Then he closed the call so that Suliman could spread the word about the doors. Kupreanaf Island, where most of the Ingarian diaspora lived, was still completely snowed in and people used magical doors heavily to move from one part of the settlement to another. Howl spent the next hour on the mirror-call chain, first with Megan, then going down the list until the two of them had contacted all the Ingarian households in town.

Everyone was to sit tight, get some sleep if they could, then meet at Howl's house at daln—sunrise—the next day. Then they'd discuss the plan, whatever that happened to be.

Howl stood up, walked to the back door, then across the patio to a gravel area across the turf. He picked a stout stick from the covered woodpile they sometimes used for specific, limited heating purposes, and used it to draw a complicated pattern in the gravel. Then he returned the stick, kicked off his shoes, and stood barefooted at the center of his scrawling. He held his arms out to his sides, palms upward, and began to mutter a spell. He heard his son Morgan saying something in Ingarian and Sophie quietly hushing him. Good, Howl thought, he needed to concentrate.

The spell was tricky. He wasn't sure how to explain it to a non-mage, but it was a little like a cross between a Google search and taking Earth's pulse. It took what seemed like forever to find the information he sought. The prognosis was not good and that was a vast understatement. He turned, picked up his shoes and went back inside.


	2. Chapter 2

Mountain Ash, Wales  
March 18, Change Year 1, 2012 AD

Sunlight streamed through the eastern window of Howl and Sophie's living room. Normally, the sun alone would have warmed the space. Howl had designed it that way, using magic to enhance the interior design, moving walls and windows and changing colors, all to take advantage of solar radiation. That was not necessary now, as the room was completely filled with people, their collective body heat making the temperature a little more than comfortable.

Roughly three dozen people had essentially crash-landed in Megan's house five years before. There were at least half again as many now. Mrs. Fairfax had emerged at Suliman's old place across town with a gaggle of children in tow. Three quarters of them had found adoptive families at New Ingary, the others remaining in Mountain Ash. A few babies had been born since then.

There were also about a dozen and a half Welsh who were either immediate neighbors, or who had followed one or more of the Ingarian households when they'd learned they knew someone who knew what had happened. That included two of Neil's friends, one of whom had his own fiancée in tow, though both young men kept looking askance at Neil's wife Nalaya, who was just as pregnant as Sophie.

Neil leaned over to his single friend Rhys. “Stop staring,” he said as quietly as he could—which wasn't that necessary, as the drone of hushed voices was surprisingly loud.

“What's wrong with her eyes?” said Rhys.

Neil looked at Nalaya, then back at Rhys. “Nothing,” he said.

“They look too big,” Rhys pushed.

“They're supposed to be that way. I'll tell you more later.”

“And why does your aunt Sophie's hair look like it's glowing?”

“I have no idea.” That wasn't entirely true. Neil knew exactly why Sophie's hair was capable of glowing. He knew all about the star-fire within her that gave her hair its silvery color and her skin its erratic luminescent properties. Thankfully, it was only the hair that glowed at the moment and just as thankfully, the morning sunlight masked the effect somewhat. He didn't, however, know what had triggered its present glow.

“Alright, everyone,” said Howl over the din, which quickly quieted. He used English, as everyone in the room understood it. “I have good news and bad news.” Howl paused for effect. “The good news, if you can call it that, is that I know what happened...I think. Most of the rest is bad news, I'm afraid.” A few murmurs, some in English, some in Welsh, and some in Ingarian, floated around the room.

“The world,” continued Howl, “has changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air. Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it.”

“Tolkien?” said someone. “Seriously?”

Howl grinned. “Just making sure you're paying attention. Earth,” he continued, “is out of phase.” He exchanged a few words with Sophie, who translated that into Ingarian. The concept of something being out of phase was tricky enough in English. “Which means, of course, that the phenomenon is global. That took a mind-boggling amount of energy, so it's highly unlikely the planet will ever shift back. Now for all the bad news.

“The energy used to do it seems to have come from the supernova that destroyed Ingary.” Howl ignored the murmurs from those who were unfamiliar with that part of the story. “It seems that someone hijacked the portal I used to evacuate Market Chipping and used it to siphon that energy. It's not my fault.” He raised his hands in a defensive gesture. Megan glared at him. “Okay,” he capitulated, “maybe it was sort of my fault.”

“Um,” said one of the people who'd followed out of curiosity, “just how do you know all that?”

“A planet cannot be only partially out of phase. That would tear it apart and we'd all be dead. That's how I know it's global. As for how I know it's out of phase...trade secret, you could say.”

“Are you daft?”

“That's a matter of opinion,” grumbled Megan. Gareth gave an affirmative snort.

Howl ignored all that and continued. “As near as I can determine, the change is permanent, unless anyone knows of a supernova we can tap into. You've all noticed by now that nothing electrical works. Einion...” Howl nodded to Neil's engaged friend. “...reports that he was unable to start his diesel engine, which suggests that pressure-related rapid combustion doesn't work, either. I've spoken with some friends in Argentina and they report that steam pressure is also severely impaired. We don't know about explosives, as private ownership of firearms is prohibited by law in Great Britain.” Howl smiled smugly. “Fortunately, most of us in this room aren't British and a few have in their possession firearms of Ingarian manufacture that we can test.”

“Wait,” said a man, “if nothing electrical works, how'd you talk to someone in Argentina?”

“We'll get to that. But the best news,” said Howl, a wicked grin spreading across his face, “is that magic still works perfectly well! Better than well, in fact.” He crossed his arms in a self-satisfied way. “And, as we all know, magic is my specialty.” Sophie elbowed him in the ribs. He looked at her. “Well, it is,” he said defensively. “I'm the most powerful mage in the world.”

“We know that,” said Sophie, “but you need not...how you say...rub our noses in it?”

Howl sighed. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “As for how I contacted Argentina...” He picked up the mirror from the table. “...I used this.”

“That's a mirror,” said a person.

“Yes. A magic mirror.” He put it back.

“Magic?” said Rhys. “You mean, illusion?”

“Not exactly,” said Gareth.

“And Ingary?” said one of the men who'd tagged along from somewhere up the street. “Never heard of it.”

“And what,” said a similarly unidentified woman, “is that about supernovas? I...don't understand.”

“It's a long story,” said Gareth, “one we might have time to tell later. Otherwise, we're drifting off-topic. Anyways, the prognosis gets worse. Our entire infrastructure relies on planes, trains, and automobiles, none of which apparently work anymore.”

“Aye,” said Einion. “I was up late and saw an airliner come down over the ridge to the east. Well...heard it mostly. A whooshing sound, the noise of down-winding turbines, and then a loud bang and a fireball.”

“And,” said Rhys, “we all had to walk over here.”

“That means,” continued Gareth, “that not only will none of us be able to easily commute to places like Cardiff, no one will be able to transport anything much further than they can walk in a day. Any population center unable to sustainably feed itself will be in a great deal of trouble in a very short period of time. Furthermore, anything electronic, including all of our bank accounts and investments, is essentially gone. If you have a job in something like finance or computer networking or the like, that's gone, too. Even worse, I fear there aren't many who are aware of any of this. At this time, only we in this room, Howell's friends in Argentina, and certain people in New Ingary have any real idea of the true extent and severity of the problem. Worse still, far too many people are likely to be in denial until it's too late to do anything but starve to death...or worse.”

“What's worse than starving?” said Einion.

Gareth just stared at him. When it finally dawned on him a few moments later, Einion said, “you can't be serious!”

“What would _you_ do if you hadn't eaten anything in weeks?” said Gareth.

“Certainly not _that_!”

“So what would you do if Gweirfyl...” He nodded to Einion's fiancée. “...hadn't eaten anything in weeks? And what if she were pregnant with your child? What would you do then?”

Einion gulped and squeezed Gweirfyl's hand.

“Precisely,” said Gareth. “We don't know how closely the technology failures are linked with Earth's change in phase, but at this point, we're not optimistic. The lights may come back on, as it were, or they may not. The laws of physics seem to have been altered and if that's permanent, then it's going to be like this forever. We don't have many options. In fact, we basically have two. We can stay put and try to survive. Or we can get the hell out and try to survive.”

“Who put you in charge?” said Rhys.

“Laddie,” said Gareth, “I have twenty-five years of experience in management and long-range planning. That makes me the most qualified person in this room, followed by Osric...” He nodded to Lettie's husband. “...Wilfrid...” He nodded to Martha's husband. “...and Howell. Osric owned a business on Ingary, Wilfrid was an investment manager, and Howell was responsible for developing Ingary's global apocalypse preparation program.”

“Global apocalypse? What global apocalypse?”

“That,” said Howl, ignoring Rhys' objection, “makes the four of us essentially the survival committee.”

“Just to be clear,” said Gareth, “I'd like to put that to a vote. All in favor of Osric, Wilfrid, Howell and myself being in charge?” Nearly everyone raised their hands. “Opposed?” A few hands, including Rhys', went up.

“Motion passed,” said Gareth. “Objections are noted.” His teenage daughter Mari, who'd been quiet and out of the way, wrote something on a legal pad. “Anyone who refuses to abide by our decisions may leave now.” Nobody budged.

“Good,” said Howl. “While we haven't really discussed it yet, I think our first priority should be some sort of defensible position.”

“Defensible position?” said Neil. “There are more than sixty million people in Great Britain, more than three million just in Wales, nearly three hundred fifty thousand down in Cardiff, and seven thousand right here in Mountain Ash. Where are we going to hole up against that?”

“There are castles, aren't there?”

Neil sighed. “Uncle Howl, there are several things being a gamer has taught me.”

“Gamer?” said Rhys. “You haven't gamed with us in five years!”

“I've been busy with the research for my databases,” Neil protested.

“Yeah, you've said that. But you still haven't said databases for what.”

“No, I haven't. And it's still classified.”

“Government, eh?”

“Not exactly, no. Look, Rhys, for the...qhlantrin time, it's been _very_ important and I'm not allowed to say why. It's far too risky.”

“For who?”

“For _them_!” Neil gestured impatiently to the people in the room.

“Gentlemen,” said Gareth sternly, “stow it. Neil, I believe you still have the floor.”

“Like I was saying,” Neil said, “being a...nerd...has taught me some things. First, we don't have anywhere close to the resources, equipment, training, and manpower to hold out against all those people. Even if we did, that wouldn't necessarily improve our situation much. Anyone who found out that we had what they needed would make us a target. And then there's the problem of getting more food. It would be just like a Zombie Apocalypse. Trust me, holing up in a castle, even a fully intact one, is a monumentally bad idea.”

“He's right,” said Gareth. “We don't have much more than a month's worth of food and that's if we ration what we have and eat the weeds. We don't have more than a few token usable weapons. We don't have sufficient combat training. And no,” he said, looking at Neil and his friends, “Halo, Everquest, and Resident Evil don't count. It would be a siege situation and history tells us that sieges rarely go well for the besieged.”

“We...must leave,” said Osric, his English halting and heavily-accented.

“Where?” said Wilfrid.

“Don't you have boats?” said Einion.

“Yes,” said Howl, “but Gareth's only has a diesel engine and mine won't hold all of us.”

“Can we retrofit his with a mast and sails?”

Howl put his hand to his chin and rubbed it thoughtfully. “Maybe,” he said finally. “Gareth, can your yacht handle that? I mean, structurally?”

Gareth frowned. “I don't know. I don't think she was designed for that.”

“Maybe we can reinforce it,” said Einion. Several people stared at him. “What? I'm a machinist. I'm good at jiggering things.”

“What if we do it magically?” said Howl.

“What did you have in mind?” said Gareth.

“Well, Charmaini's an Air-weaver. If we take that approach, we wouldn't need conventional sail apparatus. Maybe she can work with Einion on it.”

“Good idea,” said Gareth. He turned to Einion, who was frowning pensively. “Are you up to that?”

“I...don't know,” said Einion. “It depends on...well, on what the hell that means. Otherwise...yeh, I think I can give you a conditional yes.”

“Good,” said Gareth. “We can go into more detail later.”

“We're going to...leave Wales?” said Gweirfyl.

“And what if you're wrong?” asked a woman. “About everything not coming back on?”

“Look at it this way,” said Gareth, “I'd rather be gone, wrong, and feeling like a damned fool, than here, right, and hosed.”

“And,” said Neil, “if we stay here, um...Zombie Apocalypse? There aren't many corners on this island where we can hide. Maybe if there were only a dozen of us, but as you can see, there are nearly sixty. And even if things do eventually come back on, we have no idea how long that will take, nor whether it would be as sudden as their failure, or if it would be more gradual.”

Megan sighed. “I hate to say it, but I think Neil's right. It might be best to treat this like a...and I feel really silly saying it...Zombie Apocalypse.”

“And let me remind those who don't know,” said Gareth, “that Osric doesn't make that suggestion lightly. If he thinks it's best that we leave, then we should seriously consider it.”

“But,” said one of the neighbors, “why? Why is it such a big deal for him?”

“Because,” said Gareth, “he and all his people had to evacuate their home before it was destroyed five years ago. They were refugees then and it's only been just recently they've really begun to feel otherwise. And now we all stand to be refugees. It could stir up some bad memories for them. Weren't you paying attention? The rest of it's a long story and I think it's safe to say that we're going to have plenty of time to tell it later.”

“Right,” said Howl decisively. “We have a motion to, as Gareth put it, get the hell out of here. What says the Committee?”

“I concur,” said Gareth.

“Me also,” said Osric.

“Ai,” yes, said Wilfrid.

“All in favor?” said Gareth. All hands went up. “Opposed?” There were none.

“But,” said Rhys, “ _how_ , aside from by sea, are we going to do that? Aren't your boats moored at Penarth Haven?”

“Yes,” said Howl.

“That's, what, thirty miles? We're not going to just walk there, are we?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“I thought you said you can do magic.”

“I can,” said Howl, “but the portals we usually use to go there are unstable.”

“Uh-huh,” said Rhys dubiously.

“So,” said Gareth, “walking it is.”

“But that'll take days!”

“Yes. It will.”

Rhys looked around the room. “But there are children...and pregnant women.”

“I think,” said Neil, “that you just don't want to walk that far.”

“Damn right.”

“It's not really that far. I know people who will do that in one day, easy.”

“What?”

“Oh, come off it. Remember when we were on the PCT?”

“But this isn't the PCT!”

“So what? We're carrying food and belongings under our own power. They're just different ones.”

“But some people are pregnant!”

“Again, so what? Nalaya and Aunt Sophie were pregnant when we hiked from Crater Lake to Cascade Locks last year.”

“But they weren't _that_ pregnant.”

“I'll give you that, sure.”

“Look,” said Gareth, “we can argue all we want. But we're going. You can come with us, or you can stay here and deal with whatever comes. We need solutions to our problems, not problems for our solutions.” He looked at Einion. “Einion, would you be available to help devise some people and equipment movers?”

Einion considered that for a moment. “Yes,” he said decisively. “What did you have in mind?”

“I was hoping you could suggest something.”

Einion frowned pensively. “Well...we could gut a lorry, but I don't know how we'd get it to move.”

“Sled dog team?” said Neil.

“Ha, ha,” said Rhys.

“No,” said Einion, “I think he's right. We could hook up a bicycle team or a horse or something.”

“Can you do something like that in two days?” said Gareth.

“Sure, as long as I don't have anything else to do.” Einion looked at Gweirfyl. “You're coming with us, aren't you?”

She blinked. “I...don't know.”

Einion looked back at Gareth. “If she stays, I stay. But I'll still put together that conveyance for you.”

“Thank-you,” said Gareth. “So it looks like we have two days to assemble anything and everything we want to bring.”

“Two _days?!_ ” said Rhys.

“The Ingarians had two _hours_ ,” said Howl. “We'll all meet back here early afternoon day after tomorrow.”

“In the meantime,” said Gareth, “I'd like to meet with the Committee after the rest of you've dispersed. Everyone else, please gather whatever belongings you wish to save. It's too soon to say whether or not we'll return. So it may be prudent to assume that we never will. Then begin work on ways to transport all of us and all of that down to the coast. Einion, if you need any help, let us know immediately. Oh, and it may also be best to cook and eat anything perishable before it spoils. Please pack any and all food-stuffs as well.

“Also, please do _not_ discuss _any_ of this with _any_ one. We'll be hard-pressed to fit everyone here on our boats, to say nothing of food, water, and sanitation. I don't think anyone in this room has any desire to sign anyone else's death warrant, but our capacity to help is severely limited.”

“And,” said Howl, “I still consider the Ingarians here my personal responsibility.” He looked at Megan. “And I'm sure my sister can attest to how much I hate responsibility.”

Megan tittered and rolled her eyes. “And how,” she said.

“Right,” said Gareth, “let's get to it!”


	3. Chapter 3

Mountain Ash, Wales  
March 20, CY 1, 2012 AD

Clouds covered the afternoon sun, bathing Mountain Ash and most of Wales in grey. The entire town was as silent as the grave. Most people were holed up in their homes, still trying to decide what to do. Inside Howl's house, however, things were entirely different.

The noise in the living room was deafening, in contrast to the murmuring drone from two days before. People were talking animatedly. Now and then, a child cried, only to be hushed by a parent or sibling. There probably would have been pets, too, had there been room for them, and those were already becoming a sore point.

Neil whistled loudly to get everyone's attention and the noise ground to a screeching halt.

“Right,” said Gareth. “We have bad news and good news. The bad news is that things seem to be as bad as we've feared. The body count over at the hospital is frighteningly high. Life-support machines failed and a couple of in-progress emergency surgeries were...well, I think you can all connect the dots. Many of us have family, including parents and grandparents, whose fate remains unknown. We've already had to make some hard decisions and I don't expect that to change any time soon.

“Also, we tested several of the Ingarian firearms and, as we suspected, gunpowder no longer works, either.

“So here's the final plan. Shortly before dusk, everyone must assemble, by households, on the street outside this house. We'll move as a caravan. Neil has prepared a roll of sorts and we'll call that roll, but only on a household basis. Otherwise, each household will be responsible for its own members. Once the roll has been called and each household accounted for, we will move.

“The good news is that Einion has done an impressive job with that lorry of his and we'll be able to load a considerable amount of baggage and people into it. Otherwise, those of you who have things like wagons and bicycles should bring them.

“We'll take the most direct possible route to Penarth Haven. We intend to take secondary roads for several reasons. First, we need to make our journey with as much alacrity as possible. The longer it takes, the more others will notice what we're doing and the more complicated that will make things. Second, the major roads may be clogged with dead vehicles, which will hamper our passage. Third, those same roads will be swarming with people going hither and yon. Some of these minor roads might not be terribly passable and will slow us down, so we've made some concessions with regard to our route.

“We'll first follow the Abercynon Road to the outskirts of Pontypridd. From there, we'll have a navigational choice to make. Our first choice is to aim to access the A-Four-Seventy briefly and then exit onto Llantwit Road, going around Pontypridd. We'll send a small group of bicyclists ahead to that road to scout for accessibility. If it looks like too much trouble, we'll have to plow through the city, either under cover of darkness, or at melgen...pre-dawn.  
“If we go through Pontypridd, we may simply go straight southwest on Llantrisant Road through Beddau, then toward Creigiau. From there, our goal is to access the A-Forty-two-Thirty-two, which will take us around the western edge of Cardiff and straight to our boats in Penarth Haven.”

“At best speed,” said Howl, “it could be a two-day trip. But considering the size of the group and that we're not all in the best shape for this, we're probably looking at something closer to four days. Furthermore, we want to time our transit so that we're moving through population centers at odd hours, either very late or very early in the day, to avoid being noticed. That will likely mean doing some waiting. So bring a book...or twenty.”

“Howell has a good point,” said Gareth. “Life from here on is likely to consist of long periods of absolute boredom interspersed with short periods of sheer terror. There may be a lot of time with little or nothing to do.”

“Except snog,” said Howl. Sophie elbowed him in the ribs, but he just grinned at her.

Gareth rolled his eyes. “So bring the good stuff...Tolkien and the like...but be mindful of weight and space. Details of the route and the plan are subject to change. We may also have to defend ourselves. People are going to be getting desperate and desperate people do desperate, and stupid, things.”

“What about the locks?” said Rhys.

“Ah, yes,” said Gareth. “That could be a problem.”

That was somewhat of an understatement. Cardiff Bay was separated from the Bristol Channel by an engineering structure called the Cardiff Barrage, which had been built partly to facilitate shipping and partly as a component of a broader Cardiff Bay revitalization plan. Three locks, arranged side-by-side, allowed passage through the Barrage. Those locks were operated by large motors, which would, in order to be functional again, have to be refitted with something mechanical.

“That's one of those unknowns, then, innit,” said Gareth. “We don't know which of the gates will be open, if any, nor whether or not there will be vessels already trapped there. We also don't know how bad the traffic congestion will be between here and there. Though as the...erm...Shift...happened in the middle of the night, we don't expect that to be too much of a problem. If it had happened in the middle of the day, that could have been another story entirely. But neither do we know where aircraft have crashed.”

“But there's nothing for it anyway,” said Howl. “We're going and we'll just have to deal with it when we get there.”

“In the meantime,” said Gareth, “in addition to food and water, we need weapons. We want Ingarian firearms in each group, as well as bows, crossbows, and blades.”

“But,” said Rhys, “you just said firearms don't work.”

“They don't. But if there's one thing I've learned from years in management is that the threat of force is usually just as good. On the other hand, I've also learned that if you make a threat, you have to be willing to make good on it. So if we _must_ deliver on a threat of force, that's why we'll have bows and crossbows.”

“And magic,” added Howl.

Gareth nodded. “Yeh, that, too. We're gambling that few will know how to defend against blades, so if few of us know how to use them effectively, that won't be a problem...yet.”

“And,” said Howl, “no one will be expecting magic, either.”

“Quite so,” said Gareth. “Nor will anyone be familiar with Ingarian martial art styles. A few of you are proficient and impressively so and that will make you indispensable.”

Howl crossed his arms defiantly. “Indeed. Now that high-energy technology has died, magic is the most effective tool we have for harnessing the sort of energy that still _does_ work. And a formidable energy it is. It's more important than ever that we recognize its legitimacy and better learn how to use it.” Howl turned his attention to the others in the room. “Some of you have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about and may have already decided that I'm bug-shagging nuts. While my sister likely still has doubts about that last bit, I can assure you all that magic is real. In the days...and weeks and months and maybe even years...to come, I and a few of us in this room will likely be proving it to you.”

“Yeah, right,” said Rhys.

Howl smiled knowingly. “You'll see,” he said gravely.

“Right,” said Gareth, “now we only have a few hours 'till dusk. We all have assembly to do. And dress for the weather. It'll be cold and damp both on the road and at sea.” No one moved. “This is your engraved invitation, in case you're wondering.” That got people up and moving. They all filed out the door without another word.

Howl stepped over to Gareth. “Are you sure this will work?”

“It _has_ to work. If you have any other ideas, yesterday would have been the time for them. And we don't need you going all flighty on us. Not when you've been so...otherwise these past few years. Now, if you don't mind, I have a family to move...and so do you.” At that, Gareth turned and led Megan, Neil, Nalaya, Mari, and his youngest daughter Dillena out the door and across the street.

* * *

Daylight was beginning to dim as the last group of people queued up for what everyone was calling the 'Rlingafan,' an Ingarian word that basically meant 'caravan.' A few were calling it 'Rlingafan as-Peri,' or 'Perry's Caravan.' Howl didn't think it particularly original, but he had other things on his mind, like his own very pregnant wife, and whether or not he might have to kill anyone before they reached Penarth Haven, the latter of which worried him a great deal.

Einion's modified lorry, an ancient leftover from just after the Second World War, was...well, not quite a work of art, but at least well-re-engineered. Nearly everything in the engine compartment had been removed, except for the steering column and brake apparatus. Einion had lined it with a plastic-coated tarpaulin to protect the personal cargo to be loaded into the space from residual grease and dirt. The muffler, exhaust, drive line, and transmission systems had also been removed, mainly to reduce dead weight. The tires seemed a little under-inflated, though it was generally assumed that had something to do with the gas pressure issue.

In addition, Einion and his small team of assistants had stripped leaf springs off of several other vehicles and turned them into crude swords. He'd also re-purposed several hundred pounds of metal from his shop, either as blanks for things as-yet to be determined, or as weapons. He'd packaged scores of worn-out carbide machine-tool inserts to be used as arrow points, though he admitted he didn't know how well they would work for that. He'd loaded two bench grinders, all the drive belts he could find, several spools of small-diameter wire, several lengths of pipe and corresponding fittings, miscellaneous valves, tools of all sorts, a few different types of oil and other lubricants, a large bundle of shop rags, an impressive array of abrasive pads and belts, an oxy-acetylene welder, personal protective equipment, and several tarpaulins into the back of the lorry. Another tarpaulin was stretched over the back as a rain shelter. It all weighed at least as much as what he'd stripped off the vehicle in the first place. But he insisted it all might be quite useful.

Gweirfyl had managed to find a pair of small donkeys. No one asked where or from whom. The animals were hitched to the front of the lorry. She'd rigged up a set of harnesses using rope and old tires she'd cut into strips. She didn't know how well they'd be able to pull the thing once it was fully loaded down with possessions and people, but plenty of others had volunteered to help push if necessary. No one had yet discussed what was to be done with the animals once they'd reached Penarth Haven.

The caravan was peppered with various backpacks, small children's wagons, a few wheelbarrows, and a couple of wooden hand carts. Several had bicycles and their riders were to serve as advance scouts.

Those riding on the lorry were to work on making more bolts and arrows out of pieces of wood, metal, carbide inserts, twine, and so forth.

Each group carried at least one firearm, bow, and crossbow. In addition, Howl carried a pair of cast-iron frying pans. He insisted they could be useful, though he wouldn't expound on why.

“Damn,” said Rhys to Neil as he looked over it all. “Looks like we're goin' on a bloody safari.”

Neil laughed ruefully. “Or to Mordor.”

“I think,” said Gweirfyl, looking around at all the bows, cross-bows, and blades, “we all look like bloody Robin Hood!” That brought laughs out of Rhys, Neil, and Einion.

Neil looked around at all the bows and blades. “From the look of it, we may well be better armed than the military.”

Rhys lowered his voice. “You sure there's nothing wrong with your wife?”

“Rhys,” said Neil quietly, “would you shut it about that? I said I'd tell you later and I will.”

“But it _is_ later.”

“ _Later_ , later,” Neil growled.

“Okay,” said Rhys defensively. He pulled out a cigarette and went to light it.

Neil rounded on him. “Don't!” he snapped.

Rhys paused. “Eh?”

“Don't even think about it.”

Rhys eyed his friend quizzically, lowering neither the lighter nor the cigarette.

“No tobacco...ever. No exceptions. That stays, or you stay,” Neil growled, pointing at the smokes.

Rhys hesitantly lowered the lighter and glared.

“Are you going to get into formation or aren't you?” said Neil.

Rhys rolled his eyes, but said nothing as he tossed the cigarette, and the rest of the pack, into the gutter. He turned, his large, _non_ -ultralight internal-frame pack making a slight creaking sound as he jostled it.

Neil pulled an arrow from his quiver and put it to the string of his compound bow as he himself took point, his own pack making similar creaking sounds.

Howl leaned over to him. “You can really draw that with a full pack on?”

“No problem,” said Neil. “Practiced doin' it this morning. Not like I'm tryin' to punch through full plate armor or anything anyway. At least not yet.”

Howl shrugged. “Point,” he said.

Gareth walked up behind them, his own old external-frame pack creaking loudly. He glanced back at the lorry, which was loaded to the gills with possessions and people. “Never mind getting that thing to move,” he said quietly, “are we going to be able to stop it once it is?”

Howl glanced over his shoulder, then back at Gareth. “That thing has brakes, don't it? Barring that, I have a spell or two.”

“Of course you do,” said Megan sarcastically from behind Gareth.

“You're not letting the magic thing go, are you, sister?” said Howl.

Megan shook her head. Howl rolled his eyes.

Mari and Neil walked up to their parents, Mari holding a clipboard. “Well,” said Mari, tapping the clipboard, “everyone's here, even a few who just showed up out of nowhere.”

“Great,” said Gareth uncertainly.

“We're as ready as we'll ever be,” said Neil.

“But are _you_ ready?” said Mari to her brother. Gareth raised an eyebrow.

“Uh,” said Neil, “Mari and I sort of have a few standing bets on who's going to start complaining first, when, and about what.”

“Then,” said Mari, “we have a few more bets on who's going to follow, where, and about what else.”

“And,” said Neil, “we have more still on what's going to break or go wrong, where, and when.”

“Bloody hell,” sighed Gareth. “It's always something with the two of you, innit?”

Neil and Mari shrugged.

“Well,” said Megan, “this...menagerie...isn't going to move itself.”

“Yes it is,” said Howl. He turned, whistled, and then made a wide, sweeping, forward-type gesture. The sounds of squeaking wheels and grunting people filled the air as the lot of them started to roll down the middle of the street.

“So far, so good,” said Gareth, as he rested his unspanned crossbow against his shoulder and began to walk.

“Indeed,” said Howl as he also began to walk.

Within the hour, the whole group was swallowed up by the night until all that remained were the sounds of dozens of wheels and scores of footfalls.

**Author's Note:**

> In the opening paragraph, I use the Welsh spelling of Howl's name.


End file.
